We Are Going To Hell For This One
by Clavileno
Summary: Sometimes, one fandom isn't enough. Sometimes, your story needs two, sometimes it needs three. Sometimes, your story needs them all. This is that story. Enter with caution. No fandom is safe. PG/13 for cartoon violence, alcohol, swearing, and evil.
1. The Opera Singer That Sang Doom

**The Opera Singer That Sang Doom At The Heart of A Zombie**

The night wind was cold and bit sharply against him, his skin like ice beneath the wool coat he wore. He could not remember the last time he'd felt whole and truly warm. Winter in the city had always been bad but this year it raged as though it never planned to end. With the way things were going, maybe it wouldn't.

He dug in his pocket with a gloved hand, feeling for his keys as he rounded the corner to his tiny apartment. A young woman sat bundled on the steps of his building. Homeless, he thought, but as he grew closer he could see her clothes were too fine for that and her face when she lifted it was one he recognized. He stopped searching for his keys and frowned at her, even as she smiled up at him.

"You look pale Fredrick." She said, her voice still tinged with the hint of an accent, even after all these years.

Fredrick snorted. "I am in no mood for your jokes, Carlotta." He dug for his keys again, deliberately walking past her and up the steps.

"No?" She followed him into the building, continuing to smile. She smiled often now, he'd noticed, and he smiled less. Funny how people changed like that. "I have a proposition for you." She said.

He grunted again, climbing another set of stairs. His knees ached with the effort, his bones still ice.

"Scoff if you like," she continued. "It's good money I'm offering and you know you need it." Carlotta looked disapprovingly around her.

"I have everything I need already, thank you." He knew he wasn't fooling either of them, but it felt good to rebel, if only a little. He had been such a rebel once.

Carlotta followed him into the apartment and went right to the kitchen. He didn't bother scolding her. The cabinets were bare, he knew, but he let her keep wine in the fridge for when she came. She pulled a wineglass down as she continued to talk.

"You can't really be that blind to what's going on, can you?" She pulled the wine bottle from the fridge, curling her lip slightly at the mismatched jars and vials lining the shelves. "Do you know the weathermen are calling for snow?"

Fredrick dropped into his recliner with an undignified flop. "I hate snow." He said.

Carlotta rolled her eyes. "Which is hardly the point. Have you ever heard of snow this late in the year Fredrick? I'll tell you, something big is coming and I, for one, plan to be prepared."

Carlotta eyed the thin cushion of his aging sofa before settling primly on the edge of the armrest, her long legs crossed in front of her. Fredrick eyed her for a long moment, wondering not for the first time how two so different people had come to be companions.

"So what do you need me for?" He asked.

She smiled again. "I've played the diva once, my friend, and paid dearly for it. Enemies, I've learned, are best faced in numbers." She slipped a thin, gloved hand into her pocket and pulled out a small device, leaning forward to hand it to him.

Fredrick turned the thing over in his hand, examining it. It was metal and crossed shaped, but almost square, with small buttons and a circular divot. He thought there was writing etched into the surface, but his eyes were weak and the symbols were nothing he recognized. Carlotta watched him expectantly.

"And what, precisely, is this meant to be?" He asked.

Carlotta sipped her wine. "That, dear Fredrick, is going to win us this war."


	2. Said the Madman to the Minion

**Said The Madman to The Minion**

The mansion was distinctly gothique in architecture-all long eaves, sharp angels and wrought iron. Its most prominent feature was the main entrance: a massive, oaken door adorned with not one but two gruesome gargoyles. It was a dread portal the Devil himself would envy.

He had, in fact, asked Dr. Strange for a similar motif for the Gates of Hell. Strange assured the Prince of Lies he'd be by Thursday, after he'd finished conquering the living Earth.

Strange was currently floating through the mansion's dark halls, toward the basement level. The little orange men he'd recently (forcibly) employed skirted nervously around him as they passed, on their way to the evening's tasks. The last one to incur the sorcerer's wrath was still being scraped off the walls.

Teach them to sing about bloody chocolate, concluded Strange.

He approached the basement door, which was strikingly similar to the dread portal out front (in fact, most doors in the house were dread portals; Strange had developed a fetish for them.) Through the cracked opening, he could see a misty, soft radiance. A smile played briefly across his lips before he resumed his faint scowl and dragged the door open.

Traceries of light danced along the ceiling and walls, originating from a whirling blue portal situated in the middle of the small room. From behind Strange, two of the little orange men peered around the doorjamb to get a better look.

"Perfect," He sighed. Strange made a complicated gesture with both hands, then pointed both index fingers at the portal.

"Myotismon, come to me!" he cried, his voice resounding in the tiny chamber. "I call you forth in the name of Strange!"

There was a ripping sound, as though Strange had managed to tear the air in two, and the portal contorted violently before exploding outward in a blinding flash. By the time anyone could see, the radiance had been replaced by an irked, pale, humanoid creature in a high-collared get up only Dracula would appreciate.

"Who has brought me here, fools? Where am I?" he demanded, raising a fist. A red glow swirled around his gloved hand.

"I have. Name of Dr. Strange," replied the sorcerer, whose own hand began to flicker blue, a vague grin toying with the edges of his mouth. "Welcome to the human world. I believe you've been here before."

"Do you realize what you've done?" snarled the creature, who would have been human were it not for his (the voice was decidedly male) askew proportions. He was lanky in the extreme, and possessed of bulbous shoulders, which may or may not have been due to his outrageous outfit.

"Dragged a creature from the depths of the ether to do my bidding," returned Strange, matter-of-factly.

"What makes you think you could command me?" the creature answered, and lashed at Strange with the red energy; it uncoiled not unlike a whip. Strange effortlessly batted it aside with his glowing left hand, then seized the "whip" and jerked his victim toward him. The creature stumbled and fell, caught off guard by the counterattack.

"You'll do what I say because otherwise you'll never go home," growled Strange, looming over his fallen foe. "And, should you follow my command, there's something in it for you, Myotismon."

Myotismon glared up at him. "How do you know my name?"

"I've been watching your world. Been watching you," said Strange, kneeling down. "I know who you are, where you're from, and where you were going."

"What do you want from me?"

"Obedience," said Strange. "And power. And should you aid me in this, the domination of my own world," he murmured, "I shall aid you in the domination of yours. That is what you're after, is it not, Myotismon?" Something in Myotismon's vicious glare slackened as he visibly relaxed a bit.

"So, I help you with whatever it is you're planning and… you help me with whatever it is I'm planning," he said.

"That's right," replied the magician. He straightened and extended his hand-the one not on fire.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because I didn't kill you when I could have," said Strange, "and because you don't have a choice."

Myotismon weighed his options. Strange had shrugged off his attack as though it were a fly. If he was going to put this fool in his place, it certainly wouldn't be from this position...

Well, it was this or die pitiably in a human's basement.

He took Strange's hand.

Strange's weird smile widened.


	3. 26 Mutants, Also the Abyss

**26 Mutants, Also the Abyss**

Every second that ticked by was like an eternity, slowly killing her patience. When Carlotta first found herself here she had become enamored with the cinema, devouring each new film the way Ubaldo had once devoured sweets. She loved the ones full of action and drama, where no matter how tough things got you knew the hero was going to save the day in the end. If only life were more like the movies.

When people talk about wars they somehow always leave out the long, boring hours spent studying and strategizing. Battle was suppose to be about guts and glory, riding out to meet the enemy knowing one of you wouldn't survive. Instead she found herself once again buried under dusty tomes in an apartment fit only for the dead.

Frederick seemed to share her frustrations, tossing his tools across the desk and leaning back with a groan. His bones cracked as he moved, leaving Carlotta to wonder not for the first time what kept the old man running. He turned to glare at her. "Your little toy is a piece of junk."

Carlotta gently closed the book she'd been trying to read, reigning in her impulse to scream at him. She did her best to manage her anger these days, something she had never truly managed in her old life and which was constantly tested by Frederick's bullheadedness.

"It is not a toy," She said. "And I saw it work myself. You just have to help me figure out how."

Frederick snorted. "Yes, because we're doing excellently at that so far. Maybe you can go find that kid and get him to show you how it works."

"Excuse me." Carlotta dropped the book on top of her small stack, kicked up a tiny cloud of dust. "Did I miss the part where you had a brilliant plan to save our asses? Because I am pretty sure that I'm the only one trying here."

"You think I'm not trying?"

"Unless you count whining and complaining, yes, that is what I'm saying."

Frederick threw up his hands and rolled his eyes back. "Excuse me for wanting a plan that relied on something a little more substantial than a toy you stole from a school child."

"A better plan," She said. "You want a better plan?"

"Yes."

Carlotta shrugged. "Fine." She walked calmly toward his desk, picking up the device and slipping it into the pocket of her dress. "Then you can come up with one."

Frederick watched her stride over to her coat, slowly threading first one arm then the other into the sleeves. "What are you doing?" He asked.

Carlotta raised an eyebrow. "I thought it was obvious." She did the buttons up one by one.

"But you can't leave! I…it's freezing out!"

She shrugged. "Then I suppose I'll just freeze." She was out the door without another word, the latch closing with a soft click. Frederick just stared after her.

Her anger, clearly not as well managed as she thought, only kept her warm for about a block before the wind blew a hand full of snow and a chill that stung her bones. Stupid Frederick. Stupid goddamn fucking Frederick and his stupid goddamn fucking _plans_. Six years and the man couldn't just _believe _her? Just once? No, stupid man needed proof, and facts, and goddamn fucking plans.

If she just kept thinking about how angry she was she could forget the fear. Fear that maybe he was right; that she really didn't have anything to fight with, that they were both probably going to die. After six years in this city she really did only have one friend, she didn't think she could stand to lose him.

She walked back to his building and climbed the stairs, not bothering to go inside. Instead she pulled the device from her pocket and slipped it in his mailbox. She wouldn't apologize, she had her pride, but the truth was if either of them could get that thing to work it was him. Undead asshole or not, he was all she had. That little device wasn't much, but it would have to be enough for now. Carlotta took to the streets.

She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd mentioned the weather to Frederick. The wind wasn't just cold it was strong, kicking up snow and cutting off visibility. She wasn't sure she could find the kid again, not in this, but she had to try. Frederick certainly couldn't search for anything in conditions like these, any more than she could squeeze answers from his decrepit old books. She found it kind of amusing that he was the brain of their partnership while she was the brawn.

The figure was nearly right in front of her before she saw him, a tall form silhouetted through the snow. She thought it was just one man but as the wind blew her vision seemed to shift and suddenly there were two, and then four. Her nerves vibrated. She turned to go back the way she had come, considering how far she had walked from Frederick's, when she realized there were figures behind her as well, identical to the first.

She could see the more clearly as they got closer, each wearing the same green shirt under a long, leather coat. As she studied their faces she realized more that just their clothes were identical.

"Hello," They said in unison, the combined voices of eight men cutting easily through the wind. "The Master would meet with you."

Carlotta turned again, trying to find a way to slip past them as they moved in closer. "Your Master can make an appointment."

One of the men grabbed her by the arm. "The Master does not wait."

Carlotta had a brief second to be thankful she had returned the device before the world went black. The air seemed to shiver as the man lifted her body, the eight shapes disappearing into one before vanishing into the snow.


End file.
